


Dissipation

by Varkelton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Sex Pollen, Undercover As Gay, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varkelton/pseuds/Varkelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hope for a life beyond the hunt hadn't been the only reason Sam ran away to Stanford; he had also been running away from Dean. When normal went up in flames along with Jess, Sam needed Dean more than ever... but Sam knew that Dean would never stay if he ever learned what haunted Sam's dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

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>  [](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/37898.html)   
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> **Artist** : [](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/profile)[**lightthesparks**](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Link to[](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lightthesparks**](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/)' art post of hawtness: [Art Post](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/72831.html)**  
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> **Rating** : NC-17  
>  **Warnings aka Enticements** : Sex pollen of the magical variety, Dub-con, Angst, First time, One-sided UST.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : Do you suppose if I asked sweetly, the boys would give themselves to me? Yeah, I know, not after they read my stories. _Darn!_ Labor of love. No profit.  
>  **Betas** : [](http://tifaching.livejournal.com/profile)[**tifaching**](http://tifaching.livejournal.com/) , [](http://justmmy.livejournal.com/profile)[**justmmy**](http://justmmy.livejournal.com/) , [](http://vodou-blue.livejournal.com/profile)[**vodou_blue**](http://vodou-blue.livejournal.com/) and [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Cheerleaders** : [](http://snarkgoddess.livejournal.com/profile)[**snarkgoddess**](http://snarkgoddess.livejournal.com/) and [](http://locknkey.livejournal.com/profile)[**locknkey**](http://locknkey.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Thanks** : [](http://a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com/profile)[**a_phoenixdragon**](http://a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com/) and [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/) for the prompts.
> 
>  **AN** : Begins towards the end of the Pilot and goes AU from there. No spoilers for anything unaired.  
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>  **Written for[](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/profile)[ **lightthesparks**](http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/) ' [](http://loveyoulikesin.livejournal.com/profile)[**loveyoulikesin**](http://loveyoulikesin.livejournal.com/) Sam/Dean Mini Big Bang**   
> 

  


**AN** : Begins towards the end of the Pilot and goes AU from there. No spoilers for anything unaired.

 **Dissipation - Part One**

The ride back from Jericho was full of laughter and reminiscing over the good times; at least it had been, until about twenty minutes before when Dean had gone silent, an unhappy frown decorating his features.

The silence grew as they pulled up in front of Sam’s apartment building, until it became an almost physical presence in the dark confines of the car. This had been easier for Sam the first time around when his righteous, adolescent anger had pushed him out the door. He’d never looked back, even when regret tore at him, left him lost and empty. He’d run until his family was far behind him, and the constant ache of their absence was easier to ignore.

Sam slowly forced himself out of the car, but couldn’t help turning back, the lure of his brother’s soon-to-be-missing presence too much to resist. Just one more minute, and then he’d be able to let go. Leaning in towards the window to take better advantage of this last opportunity to drink in Dean’s image, he asked, “You’ll call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded without a word, staring forward stoically, clearly determined to punish Sam for his decision to stay. It was working; the silence was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t want to leave things like this either, but… he should leave. Go inside. Jess was waiting for him. Still, he didn’t move.

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” The words slipped out before Sam could edit them. Fuck.

There was a slight pause.

Dean finally turned to look at Sam, continuing to nod his head in feigned nonchalance, “Yeah, all right.”

Shit. _Shit_. He’d just blasted the slowly closing door between them back open, and he didn’t know how to back-peddle now - not while the barely concealed hope in his brother’s eyes was tearing ragged holes in his soul.

Sam let his hand slide a couple of times over the time-worn upholstery just inside the open window. _Go_. He rubbed harder, a rapid one-two-three that warmed his hand slightly before he finally forced himself to push away.

Somehow, this time, he managed to keep his feet moving.

“Sam!” Dean called out when Sam was halfway up the walk.

He stopped, his heart rate speeding up. Slowly, he turned back to find Dean leaning towards the passenger side door, one arm going over the back of the seat, looking every bit the James Dean hero of his memories. His heart went from racing to stopped dead in less than a second, causing a painful twinge in his chest.

“You know,” Dean called out, “we made a hell of a team back there.”

“Yeah,” Sam forced out in response, his muscles strung tight with the effort not to move back to the car, back to the leather and metal that felt like home, not to run forward and cry out when Dean simply nodded slightly and pulled away from the curb.

Sam stood stock still, watching his brother drive back out of his life. _Jess_ , his traitorous brain supplied. Jess and _normal_ were waiting for him back in the apartment, and if nothing else, he had her. He couldn’t regret any of his decisions with her in his life. She was the first, the only person who had ever made him feel less like a freak, like there was nothing wrong with him, like he deserved to be happy. What they had together was simple and right. As much as he loved his brother, it was too complicated to ever cause him anything but pain.

With a sigh, he turned and finished the lonely walk to the apartment.

It was dark inside; she must be in the bedroom. He shut the door and tossed down his keys, calling out, “Jess?” Suddenly filled with a longing to hold and to be held, he moved further into the room, anticipation helping to lift his mood. “You home?”

A plate of cookies on the hall table with a little note in Jess’s handwriting that declared, “Missed you! Love you!” caught his eye and he stopped, grabbing one of the cookies with a happy grin. She started making him cookies after she learned how old he was when his mom died. She was going to make an awesome mother. Just another three years and he’d be done with law school – they could start their family then.

Maybe, once he had kids, he’d be grounded enough to find a way to let Dean back into his life. 

He took a bite of the cookie as he snuck into the bedroom quietly. God, they were better than anything – Jess was as good in the kitchen as he wasn’t. He could hear the shower running, and it was going to be nice watching her face light up when she came out and found him home. He shoved the last of the cookie into his mouth and sat down on the bed, almost groaning out loud at how good the familiar softness felt. He did not miss the hotel beds he’d grown up on, not even a little bit.

Closing his eyes, he flopped backward and stretched out. This was so much better than joining back up with his brother. He had a chance to make something of himself now, had a chance to finally cover up the dark stink that had taken up residence inside of him during his teen years with something good.

Something dripped onto his forehead and he flinched instinctively, then smirked a little; it was probably just Jess sneaking out of the shower to tease him. Another drip, warm and viscous. That was… definitely not water. His eyes snapped opened and immediately locked on the horrific vision that greeted him.

Jess was spread-eagle on the ceiling, the center of her white nightgown saturated with red. He could just make out the torn cloth in the middle, like something had slashed her belly open violently. She stared at him, her mouth opening in a soundless cry for help.

“No,” he gasped out, wanting, _needing_ this to be nothing more than another nightmare.

Fear and pain twisted her features as fire, volcano hot, suddenly roared to life around her, wrapping itself around her body like a perverted lover. 

“Sam!” The call was desperate and low and male and _not Jess_ and he didn’t have time for anything else right now. He threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the raging inferno as he started to scramble up, readying himself to leap up into the conflagration to pull her from the ceiling, to pull her down to safety.

“Jess,” he cried out. Her name was ripped from his lips, as if calling her name would do any good.

Another call of “Sam, Sam!” was his only answer and he was dimly aware of Dean framed in the doorway, his focus on Sam and not on Jess, where it should be. Sam wasn’t the one that needed saving. He wasn’t the one worth saving.

“No! No!” he screamed in outrage at the universe, at God, at the monsters in the dark, at anyone willing to listen. The flames were already starting to consume her, flowing across and around her body like water. He thrust his hands into the blaze, ignoring the burn. He had to get to her now.

Dean’s arms circled around Sam and pulled him away, shoving him out the door even as he struggled. “Jess!” he screamed, not giving up, but somehow unable to maneuver past his brother. Even if he couldn’t save her, it would be better if he died trying than if he just gave up and did nothing like a useless coward. Didn’t Dean understand that?

“Jess! No!”

Flames engulfed the room with a deafening whoosh, chasing them out the door. It was too late; there was nothing he could do. 

~o0O0o~

It was four in the morning before Dean pulled into a motel. Sam sat numbly in the car while Dean left to wake up the proprietor to get them a room. He was only vaguely aware that Dean’s shouting had stopped, and the next instant, Dean was opening the door and looking at him with concern. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go. You need to get some sleep.”

Sam snorted rudely. Sleep was not happening tonight. They needed to start looking for Jess’ killer.

Dean was snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face irritatingly, which was weird. Time seemed to be starting and stopping at odd moments. He shoved his brother’s hand away and got out of the car, only to have his legs almost go out from under him.

Dean reached out and gripped Sam's shoulder, pulling him into a full-body embrace. Sam shuddered against Dean, clinging to him as sudden, overwhelming pain threatened to well out and consume everything. He willed Dean to tell him it was all a strange hallucination, maybe an after-effect of having a ghost’s hands feel up your insides, to tell him that everything he thought he remembered about this night was anything but true.

Dean only held him close, though, maintaining a silent vigil against Sam's barely contained anguish.

Jess had always been so vibrant, so alive, and now, all Sam could see was her body pinned to the ceiling, horror and pain twisting her beautiful features into something he couldn't recognize, flame enveloping her, flame so hot that it burned his eyes.

He moved closer to Dean, and suddenly that sick need he'd almost forgotten flashed through him, making him flush. He shoved Dean away before... He couldn’t allow Dean to know, not about this. This wasn’t… there was a reason he’d left, and it wasn’t to let his brother walk right back into his fucked up fantasies.

Except that pushing Dean away was going to end up hurting him all over again, and he’d never even know why. Maybe… No. No. There were no _choices_ here. Fury suddenly washed over him, fury at Dean, at Jess, at his fucked up cursed life, at himself, fury enough to block everything else out. He welcomed it, drew strength from it. “This is your fault, Dean. You did this!” he yelled. “Fuck! If you'd never come back here, this never would have happened!”

Dean went still with shock for a moment, opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again almost as fast. Fierce hurt blazed a path across his face, making his skin look sallow in the dim light. “I'm sorry, Sammy,” he whispered. “This was the last thing I wanted to happen. I didn’t…”

“Things were fine, Dean!” Sam interrupted, “No supernatural shit for years. _Years_. Then you show up, drag me into a hunt, and…” Sam felt the grief threatening to spill up and out, and he had to change the path of his thoughts quickly or he’d lose it right here in front of his brother. “You know what, go find Dad. Don’t come back. I need to try to salvage what’s left of my life.”

Dean looked stricken, like Sam had just sucker punched him.

It didn’t matter. Sam couldn’t let it matter.

He pushed Dean aside and walked out; he needed to do this on his own, needed to stay with someone else. He couldn’t let Dean stay with him. Jess was dead. Sweet, safe, generous Jess had bled out and burned on the ceiling because of _him_ … and the very same night he was letting himself fall back into…

No. No, he couldn’t be that person. He needed to get the hell out. He needed to make Dean leave him here in Normalville to grieve for Jess like she deserved.

Besides, Dean would thank Sam for running if he knew what Sam thought about in the dark.

He turned around, forced his feet to start moving him away from the only good thing left in his fucked up life. It was a cold night, and Sam only had the one light jacket to his name. Everything he had was gone. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth and tried not to let the chill that he couldn’t really do anything about fuel his misery.

Instead, he let his brain chew on the problem of where to go. He definitely didn’t want to go to any of their female friends; didn’t think he could stand soft eyes full of sympathy right now. Zach had flown home the day before Dean had shown up because his grandmother had died, and he still wasn’t back. Luis was already sharing a tiny apartment with three other guys. Brady was… God, Sam wasn’t sure he could face the guy who’d introduced him to Jess right now, but Brady’s skeevy roommate had O.D.’d last week and he knew Brady was pretty desperate to find a new person to share the rent.

Jess had talked Sam out of offering to help when they got the frantic call in the middle of the night. Brady was headed down the same path as his newly deceased friend, and he wasn’t asking for help with his addiction - all he really wanted was money. She was right, of course, as long as Brady insisted that he didn’t need to be saved, there wasn’t much Sam could do... but it still hadn’t sat well. Sam had had enough of turning his back on friends while he was growing up.

Maybe if he was around all the time he could help his friend finally turn things around. Having somebody who was more fucked up than he was to focus on right now… was probably not a bad idea either. It was worth a shot anyway. If nothing else, until he could find another option, it would keep him from having to sleep on a freezing park bench.

“Sam!” He’d already made it across the street when Dean’s voice echoed across the parking lot.

Sam halted, but he didn’t turn back.

“I know you’re upset, okay? I just… I’ll be here if you change your mind. Just… We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

No. Sam was never coming back. He couldn’t do that to Dean... or to Jess. Keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, Sam took one step, and then another. Made himself keep walking until he was too far away to hear if Dean decided to say anything else.

~o0O0o~

Sam pounded on the door again when Brady didn’t answer right away, and idly contemplated picking the damn lock. He snorted quietly to himself; that would be a fun skill to try to explain away.

It was also probably not the best way to convince his friend to let him couch surf, so he retrained himself, but just barely. He walked to the edge of the porch and rocked back on his heels a few times, toying with the idea of a run. At least he’d warm up, and maybe he’d manage to shake off the lingering adrenaline that was making him want to crawl out of his skin. A massage would help. Jess gave the best back rubs… Shit.

He whipped around and banged on the door again hard enough to make his hand throb in protest. “Brady!” he shouted, not really caring if he woke the neighbors.

The door was flung open. “Sam?” Brady puzzled out sleepily. “What the hell, dude? It’s the middle of the night. Either this better be fucking good, or you better have brought tequila.”

Sam blinked in the face of Brady’s good-natured stupidity. For once his friend didn’t look like he’d spent the last several hours on a bender. “Jess is…” Sam’s throat closed up around the words, and he stared at his friend helplessly.

He was doing fine. Holding up fine. He could do this. Maybe he should have gone back to his apartment instead of coming here. Screw the lingering police and firemen – that little problem could be worked around. He didn’t want to sleep anyway. What had he been thinking?

The haziness in Brady’s eyes slowly slipped away to be replaced with alarm. “What’s going on, Sam?” Brady demanded.

Sam turned around and took a step away. He needed to stay focused.

“Sam?”

Sam turned back around at the full-blown fear he could hear in Brady’s voice. He couldn’t just leave the guy like this. Brady had been a good friend to them both. He could simply tell Brady and take off though. Taking a step backward, he opened his mouth to reply and suddenly panicked that Brady might lose it. Sam didn’t have time for that, he needed… but Brady deserved something for being woken up in the middle of the night.

He should never have come here. He should be back at the apartment, looking for clues. The case comes first. How many times had Dad drummed that into his head? You stayed focused and dealt with the emotional fallout later, or not at all – anything else could get you killed. He was shaking all over, although whether it was from the cold or exhaustion he couldn’t really say. He forced his hands into fists, willing the weakness away.

 _Now that you’re here, just deliver the news and get the hell out, Sam. Keep your head in the game._ He cleared his throat. “Jess is de...”

The words came out in barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Brady went white with shock, and Sam felt the weight of it settle over him like a mantle. Abstractly, he could feel the tears start sliding down his face, but he wasn’t sure where they were coming from. Everything was still slightly surreal, like it was happening to someone else.

Except where before he’d been almost numb, and now it felt like everything was closing in, threatening to suffocate him if he didn’t find a way to push the thoughts, the memories, the _knowing_ , away immediately. A jagged, anguished sound clawed its way out of his throat, making the words he forced out that much harder to understand, “There was a fire, and… she…”

Brady shook his head, uttered a quiet, anguished, “No.” It was the final crack the dam needed to break.

Sam took a step forward, needing… it didn’t matter; it was like he’d forgotten how to walk, and he tripped over his feet, thudding to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. Jess was dead, and he’d done nothing to stop it. _Nothing_.

Strong arms circled him, and he crumpled into the comforting warmth, his harsh sobs shattering the lie of the peaceful night.

~o0O0o~

Sam opened his eyes slowly, cautiously, his head throbbing and the light far too bright. He didn’t remember much besides stumbling into Brady’s box-filled disaster of a living room and Brady shoving a bottle of whiskey in his hands. For once his friend’s solution to everything didn’t seem so stupid. Sam had grabbed the bottle and chugged it, and after that everything became a murky haze.

He was on the floor, his cheek imprinted with carpet fibers and drool soaking the shirt he was using as an impromptu pillow. It felt like most of the moisture that was supposed to be in his mouth had leaked out, leaving a dry cavern in its wake. He swallowed unhappily. What little spit there was tasted rank.

Jess was going to kill him…

 _Fuck_. The pain snuck up on him and clawed at his throat, leaving him achy and empty. Desolate. Jess had made his world come alive again after he’d left the craziness of his father’s obsessive crusade behind, after he’d left behind the only person in the world who mattered to him. Now he was back to nothing, and it was pretty unlikely he’d be able to find a fix for that a second time. Jess had been one of a kind.

Dean was still in town. Sam could feel the weight of their connection, and the ache of their separation was an uncomfortable tingle in the back of his skull. He knew, on some level, that it was just his overactive imagination, but still, it felt so real. This wasn’t where he wanted to be. Not with Brady. Sam wanted nothing more than to curl up in his brother’s arms and never… _Don’t go there…_

Fuck, he was sick of telling himself to let that go, however much he knew that he didn’t have any other choice.

He forced himself to sit up, and the immediate pounding in his head was deafening. Oh, right, that’s why he didn’t usually let himself get carried away with the booze. His eyes fell on an overturned bottle on the floor. Especially not when the booze in question was Brady’s barely drinkable, home-brewed approximation of Wild Turkey. His stomach gave a warning cramp, and Sam forced himself to his knees so he could crawl over to the bathroom down the short hall. He folded his arms across the top of the toilet bowl and rested his head against the cool porcelain. It was going to be a long morning.

~o0O0o~

 _A rustle in the underbrush nearby startles him as he runs the well-worn trail. He turns, stumbling almost immediately when his foot catches on a root. He goes down on his ass hard enough to slide a couple feet. Scrambling back up, heart pounding, he tells himself that he’s being a fool; there’s nothing out here. It’s been the same noises haunting his early morning run for over a week now, and there’s never been anything to see. Ben’s stupid, juvenile, made-up rituals were just getting under his skin. Fuck that asshole anyway. He doesn’t need those guys anymore._

 _New movement in the branches nevertheless makes him turn and run full out, as if pursued, which… he forces his steps to slow and gradually comes to a stop, bending forward to place his hands on his knees and catch his breath. He’s being stupid. Best way to get over a fear is to confront it straight on, right? Least, that’s what Mom always says._

 _The underbrush shifts again off to his right. He straightens and squares his shoulders, forces himself to walk towards it rather than away, wistfully wishing for his dad’s old hunting rifle, even though he’s never really been able to figure out how to shoot it worth crap. Damn it! There’s nothing here, he knows this._

 _Crouching down to look more closely through the foliage accomplishes nothing; it’s dense this far down the trail. Nothing for it – his brain isn’t going to let it go until he proves to himself there’s nothing in there that doesn’t belong._

 _His hands shake and he can feel a droplet of sweat slowly tickling down his back as he parts the leaves to reveal…_

 _Nothing, of course. Just like always. Nothing but his own very sick and twisted imagination. The things he imagines will happen to him out here, alone on the trail, whenever he’s let himself dwell… he shivers, cold fingers crawling up his spine. Maybe he should seek medical treatment – he’s heard tell that there’re doctors for this kind of thing._

 _ **Finish your god-damned run so you can go get ready for class already**. Angry with himself, he starts to turn back, but the hand he’s absently rested on the ground doesn’t come with him. Sharp pain encircles his wrist and twists sharply, and with a yelp he’s spun back around to land heavily on his knees. His other hand goes down for balance leaving him on all fours; he tries to rear back, but both hands are caught now. _

_**There’s nothing there!** _

_He yells out, calling for help as panic crawls down his spine. He pulls frantically on his wrists, but they won’t come free. He tries to flex his fingers, but he’s encased in something hard, and he realizes that he’s sinking, is in fact already  down to his elbows in the hard ground. Sharp, stabbing pain rips through him, and he can feel his flesh being torn away in massive chunks, leaving fiery agony in its wake. His yells turn to screams, his feet unable to get any traction as they flail desperately against the ground._

 _An agonizing jerk on his buried flesh pulls him abruptly deeper, and the ground rushes up to meet his chest, the impact driving all the breath from his lungs. Not that it matters, he doesn’t have time to do more than gasp out one last sob before he’s jerked down once again and this time his head goes under the ground like it’s water. Sand and dirt slice like tiny razor blades into the tender membranes of his mouth and nose as he frantically tries to draw in breath, and with a strange clarity he knows that death is coming to take him…_

~o0O0o~

Sam woke up with a sharp, desperate intake of breath, his head pounding. He looked around frantically for something to ground him in the here and now, half fearing dirt and sand and dark, but found nothing but the stark whites of Brady’s dingy, utilitarian bathroom. For once, he found himself grateful for the familiar normality of the grimy room around him. He must have passed out on the floor after he’d tried to puke up his stomach for the fifth time. Fuck. That dream had been… it had felt so damn real… it’d felt just like his nightmares about Jess…

It wasn’t real though. It couldn’t be. Those dreams of Jess… no, they weren’t… they couldn’t have had anything to do with what had happened. His eyes burned and the pressure building in his head was making it hard to think. If they’d been… If there was something he could have done to save Jess if he’d only heeded the warnings… He pressed his fingers hard against fire in his eyes, willing his weakness away.

The paranormal wasn’t something he was, it was what he had been raised to hunt. It’s what came into his life to rend and destroy. It wasn’t what he brought to the party. This had… this had just been some subconscious dramatization of what had happened to his mother working itself out, and that… that had just been some twisted nightmare, spawned from way too much crappy booze and an overactive imagination, nurtured by the fucked up reality of his childhood. Guilt stabbed through him at the thought of some poor schmuck dying out on the woods while he did nothing.

But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been.

Dean. He wanted his brother here, needed Dean to joke with him, to laugh it off as just him being paranoid. Sam needed his brother to make him feel stupid for still feeling so fucking freaked out. As agitated as he was at that moment, though, it was really just as well that he’d sent Dean away. He’d probably say too much, or hold on too hard, and Dean would figure out what a sick fuck Sam was. Then, Dean would be the one to leave. No. Better this way, so that he could at least keep hoping he’d grow the fuck out of all of his fucked up fantasies.

Hard, cold bitterness flooded his stomach and chest. He’d wanted normal – had, for years, fought and clawed his way towards independence until it had become his reality. Maybe he hadn’t been happy, per se, but for a short time being content had at least felt like a possibility. Now it was all gone, ripped away in just a few short seconds, and he still couldn’t have his brother in his life. This was worse than if he’d never left.

He tried to sit up, to pry his sorry ass off the floor, but that made his head lurch sideways about five feet and his stomach clench threateningly, so he lay back down on the cold tile and let his eyes drift closed once more.

~o0O0o~

A loud bark of laughter jarred him awake, and he moaned in protest, looking around blearily.

Brady was leaning against the doorframe. “Man, you got _wasted_ last night!” he proclaimed mockingly. “Come on, let’s get you off the bathroom floor.” Strong arms wrapped around Sam and pulled him up, enabling him to stand despite the still fierce pounding in his head.

 _Hands pull at him, forcing him down into the hard unforgiving ground, filling his mouth with bugs and dirt and death…_

“Whoa, steady, man,” Brady muttered, pulling Sam back from the thoughts that still pulled at him hungrily, whatever he’d been dreaming about the second time forgotten.

 _Fuck_. He gasped out a small protest at the sharp lance of pain accompanying the flash of memory.

Brady pulled him in close, chuckling softly. “Okay, let’s get you into the living room so you can sit where the normal people do.”

The laughter, the teasing mood – it all felt wrong, somehow. Wrong that Brady could feel anything but crushing, overwhelming sadness in the wake of Jessica’s loss. Anger flared, and Sam pushed his friend away harshly.

“Hey!” Brady complained, rubbing his chest.

Sam shook his head, the pain making it hard to think. “Sorry,” he muttered. He kept his head down and staggered slowly into the living room, where he landed heavily on the couch between the piles of boxes. Those were new since the last time he’d been here. He’d meant to ask about that. “What’s with the boxes?” he mumbled muzzily.

“I’m moving,” Brady announced happily.

“Well, yeah. I was figuring that out. But I’ve been given to understand that polite people tell their friends when they do that. Where are you moving _to_ , asshole?” Sam growled.

“I got invited to join a frat.”

“A frat. You,” Sam deadpanned. “They kicked you out of Stanford last semester; how the hell can you join a frat? And who the hell would want you?”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, dickwad.” Brady came over to the couch and sat down next to Sam, shifting to put his feet up on one of the boxes. The angle pressed Brady’s body against Sam’s.

Sam couldn’t explain the sudden desire to move away, but his skin itched with it, demanded he give in. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d ignored his instincts, although he wasn’t sure what made him want to stay where he was. Fatigue, probably. Moving would require effort and would make his head pound harder than it already was. He was being irrational anyway. Brady had been his friend since his first day here. Hell, he’d introduced Sam to Jess. Sam knew he wasn’t a threat.

Brady let his head fall onto Sam’s shoulder. “They have a lot of influence. Some of the guys pulled some strings, and I’m back in.”

“To Stanford?” Sam asked incredulously. “What frat is it? And how much money did you have to steal for them to get them to let you in?”

Brady snorted, “Can’t you just be happy for my bit of luck, for once?”

“I… guess. But, dude, you have a tendency to get into things over your head,” Sam muttered, vaguely irritated that his friend was being so evasive. 

There was a long pause, and Sam started to drift. Brady’s voice made him jump when it finally came again. “You should come with me.”

“What?” Brady must be talking about food, and Sam just missed it. “I don’t think I’m up to going anywhere right now. You want food, why don’t you just order a pizza.” The thought of all that grease made him uncomfortably aware of his stomach, and he shifted miserably. “I’m not gonna join you, though.”

“I meant, you should move into the frat with me,” Brady replied with quiet force.

Sam snorted; he had no interest in being a pledge, and the thought of moving anywhere permanent wasn’t something he was ready to face yet. Jess…

“I’m serious, Sam. You shouldn’t be alone right now, and you’ve got no one else. They’ll take you in if you’re with me.” Brady’s hand dropped casually to Sam’s knee and held Sam’s attention when it didn’t move away.

His friend had never really been the touchy-feely type; Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just froze. He wished the pounding in his head would stop, wished the room would stop spinning long enough for him to make sense of what was happening. He got neither wish, though, and when the hand remained unmoving, Sam zoned out once more, letting himself relax back into the plush couch, not moving, not thinking.

Movement pulled him back slowly, the fog clearing as he fought to make sense of Brady’s hand lazily circling up his leg and running softly over his dick, which had perked up almost immediately under the attention. Brady gripped it tightly through the material of Sam’s pants, pulling him sharply back to reality. Pushing Brady’s hand away with his heart in his throat, he demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Brady sat up, looking a little flustered. “I don’t… Sorry. Sorry. It’s too soon, I know. But you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

Sam opened his mouth, but no words came out. It was like his friend had turned into a whole other person. Again. He didn’t know what to do with that.

“Think about it, Sam. You can stay here the next couple months – lease isn’t up till the end of the semester, and breaking it would be more expensive than just paying it. So, yeah, this place is yours.” Brady stood up, grabbing a satchel by the door. “But if you decide you don’t want to be alone, just call me, okay? They’ll take you in if I vouch for you, and I won’t ask for anything you aren’t ready for. I promise.”

Brady turned and walked out of the apartment before Sam was able to come up with a reply.

~o0O0o~

The building was eerily silent, what with all of its occupants evacuated in the wake of the fire. It didn’t sit well. The apartment building wasn’t on campus, but most of the people who lived here were college students, and it seemed like there had always been music or talking and laughter going on somewhere. Now it was like the building had died along with…

His gaze caught on the door into their place. It was busted in, probably by Dean, although Sam didn’t actually know for sure how his brother had gotten inside. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask. He could smell the smoke still, heavy in the air, but there were no visible signs of burning, which made little sense if the fire had been natural. The inferno had been raging by the time the fire trucks had arrived.

The idiots were probably still going to blame faulty wiring. As much as Sam sought out normal, he could never understand how seemingly intelligent people could look at the obvious and just not see. 

A silver-framed picture of Jess, the one with the little silver heart that dangled from the corner, pulled his focus. It had been a present to him on their six month anniversary. She’d caught him by surprise – he hadn’t even known you were supposed to do anything for that, but she hadn’t been upset. 

For a moment, he couldn’t pull in enough air; it felt like it had all been sucked from the room, just like the fire had done last night.

He stumbled forward and picked up the picture with shaking hands. This was all he had left of her now, and she was the one who had cared about all that stuff, all the bits and pieces that make up a home, instead of just a place to bunk down. He’d tried, but he’d never been able to put quite as much importance on belongings as she had. She’d been the one who’d brought the normal to their relationship, and his curse was the thing that had stripped it all away.

Unthinkingly, he threw the frame across the room. The shattering glass was loud and satisfying in the quiet space. Everything he’d thought he’d found had been stripped from him in a matter of minutes, like it had all been a small, insignificant illusion. Of course, when it came down to it, that’s really all it ever had been.

He didn’t have an EMF reader since he’d cut off contact with Dean, but that wouldn’t stop him from looking for clues in the wreckage. He steeled himself, locking his emotions down tight just like he’d been taught, slipping into his hunter personae like a second skin he’d almost forgotten he owned. It was worth it if it meant finding Jess’ killer. With one final deep, steadying breath, he moved into the bedroom.

He threw himself into the task, going over every square foot of the place with painstaking care, looking for the smallest clue, immersing himself in the familiar chore at hand so he wouldn’t have to think about anything else, but after more than an hour, after going over the entire thing twice with nothing to show for it, Sam could feel the cracks in his emotional armor starting to split apart. He needed his dad’s god-damned book. There was no way he could face Dean right now, though.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, Dad disappearing and Jess dying just like Mom had, both women suspended over his own bed. Which meant that, somehow, both deaths actually tied back to him; Mom’s death hadn’t been an attack on Dad, like he’d always assumed. He’d brought the demon directly to Jess and his mom, which meant… this was about him. Something about him must be drawing these attracts. Fuck, he was either going to have to put a stop to it or die trying.

Suddenly unable to bear being so close to her, he stumbled out of the room only to come up short. Dean was sitting on the couch, looking at him anxiously, expectantly, like he’d been waiting there for a while.

The immediate desire to collapse on his brother, to let Dean shoulder the weight for a while, was overwhelming. His throat tightened with an onslaught of emotion that left him weak.

Dean got up silently, came over to him and, unasked, wrapped him in an embrace. Sam couldn’t hold it in anymore. His first sob was loud and shameful in the still too quiet building. He dug his fingers into Dean’s jacket, grateful for the familiar smell and feel, couldn’t stop himself from clutching at his brother in a futile attempt to keep it all inside.

Dean held him tighter, whispered, “God, Sammy, I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.”

Sam crumbled against his brother, the offered comfort so much better than what he’d settled for last night, the grief pouring out of him in a torrent, but still slower than it filled him. He couldn’t think past that pain, except that… he knew this was wrong; he couldn’t use his brother like this when he was only going to push him away. It wasn’t fair to Dean. Sam didn’t deserve to have him here anyway.

If he didn’t push Dean away, Dean would never leave, at least not until all of Sam’s deep dark secrets were out. Then he’d never see Dean again; his brother would despise him. That wasn’t a possibility he could face.

Sam pushed Dean away with a sudden hard jerk, and Dean stumbled backwards in surprise. “What the fuck are you doing here, Dean?” he bit out furiously.

Dean’s eyes flashed angrily, the hurt clear in the tense lines of his body. “I don’t know. Last I checked there was evil in town. Kinda more my gig than yours of late. Thought maybe you could use some help.”

Dean’s gaze was challenging, daring Sam to refuse his assistance. A part of Sam wanted desperately to take him up on the offer, not just because he wanted his brother around, but also because he knew he was rusty, and this was probably his best bet for avenging Jess’ murder. He’d already been through all the arguments in his head, though. It didn’t matter what he wanted; he couldn’t be selfish, not on this, not when Dean would be the one to pay for it.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Dean cut him off. “I’ve already been all through the apartment – snuck in last night after you left.”

Self-recrimination hit hard, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth; Dean had been working last night while Sam had been getting shit-faced. Jess deserved more. He swallowed his pain down, burying it in anger.

“I told you to leave,” Sam replied coldly.

Dean just raised his eyebrows. “Wow, little brother goes away to college and now he thinks he’s in charge. You aren’t the one that gets to give the orders. That’s the older brother’s prerogative, in case you’ve forgotten.” 

Sam let the bitterness of old hurts fill his voice. “Yeah, you and Dad were the ones that decided that, not me. I’m not a child who needs to be protected anymore. I don’t need that from you. Go look for Dad; I’ll be fine on my own.”

The look of betrayal on Dean’s face twisted a knife in Sam’s gut. Clearly trying to play it off, Dean moved forward to put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not leaving you alone right now. Not after what happened.”

No. No, Sam wanted Dean’s offered comfort too badly. Giving in now would destroy them both. Sam pushed Dean hard enough that his brother stumbled back, taken by surprise. “Don’t you get it?” he demanded, raising his voice, using his rage at Jess’ loss to give his words a bite of conviction and believability, “When Dad said if I walked out the door that I could never come back, I was _relieved_ , Dean. I was glad! I had to fight and claw my way to get out. Then, the minute you waltz back in and try to pull me back, my girlfriend gets murdered by something supernatural. You brought it with you. Whatever it was followed you here. So I don’t want you here, Dean. I can’t even stand to look at you.”

Dean’s face finally hardened into an angry mask; Sam was too furious, too full of grief already, for it to hurt. “I know how you feel, Sam, but I’m not the one that killed Jess. You can’t take it out on me when I’m all you’ve got. Your college buddies sure aren’t going to help you hunt it.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s jacket and shoved him against the wall hard enough to make Dean grunt. He growled into Dean’s face, “Mom died when you were, what, four? You barely remember her. Jess died yesterday. You don’t have any god-damned idea how I feel.”

Dean easily broke Sam’s hold and pushed him back, his face going still and emotionless. “Maybe not, but at least I’m not a selfish bastard. Good luck finding normal while the monsters are hunting you down.”

Dean turned and walked out, and that was finally enough to bring Sam’s crippling grief to the surface. He slammed his fist against the wall, hoping to keep the feelings buried just a little bit longer. The pain was sharp and stabbing and exactly what he deserved. Cradling his hand against his chest, he leaned against the hard, unforgiving surface that smelled like death, let himself slide down the wall to wait until Dean’s footsteps had echoed away.

Only when he was sure Dean was gone did he allow himself to whisper the words screaming in his head. “Don’t go…”


	2. Chapter 2

  


**Dissipation - Part Two**

Sam’s eyes drifted shut, and that felt far better than he wanted. He forced them back open and stood up, shaking his hands briskly and pacing back and forth in the small kitchen in an attempt to keep himself awake. His gaze fell on the newspaper he hadn’t been quite able to bring himself to throw away, although it screamed at him accusingly every time he saw it.

Moving into the living room, he threw open the window to breathe the cold air in deeply. He was vaguely disappointed when it made his head ache but didn’t really leave him feeling any more awake. The cold was kind of depressing, actually. It was the beginning of March, spring was just around the corner, but the last week had seen the temperature crashing down to below freezing every night. It left him with the feeling that the equinox was a million years away. At least the never-ending dreariness of winter suited his pervasive mood.

Despite the cold, he blinked heavily and slowly let himself sink down onto the couch. His eyes slipped closed again, but this time, he couldn’t bring himself to force them back open.

The mystery, of course, was why he kept fighting it. Sleep would win in the end, obviously. He just… another nightmare featuring death and destruction just might put him in the ground. And even though he couldn’t see it from the couch, that article about the body found on the jogging trails nearby with significant amounts of aspirated dirt still screeched condemnation at him.

He wasn’t in any shape to hunt; he should probably call someone and bring them in, but… the thought of calling up one of Dad’s old hunting buddies and explaining that John’s son had had a psychic vision? Yeah. Calling Dean was more likely. But that… that would… his thoughts spun, and eventually tumbled over into oblivion…

~o0O0o~

 _Dean screams, the pain clawing through his body as blood spurts from wounds too numerous to count. “Sam,” he whispers into the empty room, a hopeless cry with no expectation of an answer. No one comes. Harsh breaths, one after another, echo through the room, the only break in the silence. Anticipation and helpless dread fill the dreary space._

 _His head is slammed back against the hardwood floor by an unseen force. Someone, **something** , is covering his forehead with a clammy hand, pinning him down. He can feel it, solid and living, but he can’t see anything, not even a flicker. There’s nothing there to fight, but he flails against it anyway, incapable of simply giving up. Slime and filth cover his mouth until he’s forced to breathe it in, and it burns down deeply into his lungs. He thrashes against the invisible grip, but his head is held fast. _

_He keeps fighting, keeps fighting because he’s always believed that his family needs him to stay topside. The sharp suspicion he’s wrong, that he’s always been wrong, flashes through him, sapping his strength. He’s alone, abandoned. First Sam, then Dad._

 _The fiery pressure in his lungs builds, and he gasps another dirt-filled breath into his starving lungs. Lack of oxygen makes the room spin nauseatingly, but there isn’t anything he can do. Eventually, his struggles slow, his limbs heavy and progressively harder and harder to move. In time, he stops moving altogether._

 _Panic still grips him, pain coursing through his damaged lungs, but he’s got nothing left to fight with. His eyes slip closed and he prays for the end to come and stop the agony he knows he can’t escape. His body stills. His breaths slow, growing fainter and fainter, until a long rattling sound deep in his chest echoes through the room._

 _Then, silence, stillness so profound it washes everything surreal._

 _Sorrow wells up in Sam’s soul and he yells out the horror of his loss, but he makes no sound. He’s nothing but a helpless observer, forced impotent in the face of his worst nightmare._

 _Sam watches as he, as Sam, is shoved into the room forcefully and he falls to the ground where he’s finally able to scramble forward to pull Dean into his arms. A muttered litany of, “No, no, no…” tumbles from his lips as he cradles his brother’s lifeless body against his chest._

 _It doesn’t help, doesn’t bring Dean back, but sanity is a fleeting thing, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let his brother go._

 _A hideous voice, scratchy and dry and inhuman, chuckles low behind him. “Guess he should have given the master what he wanted.” The door slams behind him, heavy and final, sealing him into the small room forever, but Sam can’t bring himself to care…_

~o0O0o~

Sam jerked up into a sitting position with a loud, panicked inhalation of air. A sticky slime of desperate tears was filling his nose and throat, making it almost impossible to breathe, and the memories of suffocation were clawing at him once again, threatening to pull him back under. _Dean…_

He launched himself off the couch, desperate to find his phone, find Dean, but his limbs crumbled underneath him. This dream… _it was a dream, only a dream, oh God…_ had left him more exhausted, more depleted, than any of the others, and the throbbing pain in his head refused to be ignored, pounding through him like crackles of lightning. His body rebelled, and his stomach heaved, pulling up the meager contents in his stomach to soak into the already disgusting carpet.

He rolled onto his side when his stomach finally stopped convulsing, pulling himself into a fetal position to wait out the tremors that still shook him, praying that his body would recover sooner if he didn’t fight them. As desperate as he was to reach his brother, he knew he wasn’t moving anywhere until the spasms left him.

Oh God… _Dean_. He wasn’t going to be able to ignore this one. He couldn’t leave his brother to die alone. Not like that. Not thinking that Sam didn’t need him. Sam didn’t know if his visions could be prevented, but, God damn it, this time he was going to try.

~o0O0o~

“Sam? What the hell?”

Sam jerked awake, his head snapping up faster than he could think and sending shooting pain slamming through his body. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to sleep with the randomly spiking headache, but apparently his body had other ideas. He lowered his head and curled more tightly into himself with a pathetic moan, willing the agony to leave him.

A hand on his face startled him and he jerked back, swearing under his breath. Shit, he hadn’t thought his brother’s voice had been real. Warm, strong, gentle hands helped pull him up to sitting, and Sam looked blearily into Dean’s wide, alarmed eyes. Had he been drinking? Sam couldn’t think beyond the pounding in his head.

“Are you sick? Damn, dude, why aren’t you in bed?” Dean asked, clamping a hand over Sam’s forehead. He was shaking, and his hair was plastered to his face with cold sweat. He wasn’t sick, but he sure felt disgusting.

Dean was tugging on him, trying to pull him up from the floor, and Sam didn’t have enough energy left to fight. The path of least resistance landed him leaning against Dean for support as his brother walked him into the bedroom and over to the bed. Sam dropped down on it with a weary moan, too tired, for once, to take pleasure from Dean’s physical closeness. He inched closer to the headboard and leaned back, letting the cheap wood hold him upright. Dropping his head back, he closed his eyes and willed the headache to leave him the fuck alone. This wasn’t a hangover-headache. He was way too fucked up for that, but if he’d had another dream, this was the worst reaction he’d had to it by far.

The bed dipped and a blanket was pulled across his legs. “You should probably get under the covers, dude. How long have you been this sick?”

“Not sick,” Sam muttered between clenched teeth. What the hell was Dean doing here, anyway?

“Oookay…” The low drawl was pretty clearly placating, and Sam had to stop himself from hitting his brother; it would only set his head off more. “Have you been getting enough fluids? You should drink something.”

The bed shifted again, and Dean was gone. Sam wanted to call him back, but he wanted the shakes to go away even more, so he stayed quiet, focused on breathing deeply and steadily. It seemed to be helping.

He must’ve dozed off again, because suddenly Dean was back at his side, forcing a bottle between his lips. He would’ve protested, would’ve pushed his brother away, except that the cool water that flooded his mouth tasted incredible, and he greedily swallowed it down instead.

“Good boy,” Dean smirked as Sam finished the last of it.

He opened his eyes and blearily snagged the bottle from Dean’s hand, looking at it mournfully when he discovered it was empty.

“Here,” Dean chuckled, holding out a second bottle.

“Fuck,” Sam whispered, his throat thrashed and raspy. He grabbed the unopened bottle, twisting the cap off to down the contents. Finally pulling the bottle away with only an inch or so left, he realized his head wasn’t pounding quite as bad. Thank fucking God.

“Why don’t you get under the covers and go back to sleep while I find you some soup,” Dean encouraged, getting up.

“No,” Sam replied irritably.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, sitting back down reluctantly. “What do you want instead of soup?”

Just like nothing was wrong. Just like they hadn’t not spoken for months. Again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The growl in his voice was more from the vision reaction than intent, but it sounded threatening all the same.

Dean seemed unfazed. “I came to check on you.” He shrugged, “Looks like that was one of my more brilliant ideas.”

Sam closed his eyes. It’d be easier to do this if he didn’t have to look at Dean while he said it. “Get the hell out. I don’t want you here, Dean. I thought I made that pretty clear the last time we talked. Nothing’s changed.”

“No.” The word was simply stated, calm, allowing no room for argument.

“No?” Sam parroted back stupidly, opening his eyes again.

“Yeah. No.” Dean shrugged, like he wasn’t being completely unreasonable.

“But I…”

Dean spoke right over Sam, drowning him out. “There’s a hunt here. You clearly aren’t in any shape to handle it on your own, so I’m staying. And seeing as how you seem to have this whole place to yourself, I’m not going to slap down for a motel. So save your arguments for someone who gives a damn.”

There was just a hint of anger coloring his final words, but probably Sam or their dad would be the only ones that would ever pick up on it.

Sam opened his mouth, trying to figure out how to respond, but before he could come up with anything, Dean added, “Now go the fuck to sleep so you can fight off whatever bug you’ve got.”

The slam of the door behind his brother’s exit snapped Sam’s mouth shut. His headache was receding fairly quickly now, so he got out of bed and stood up. The room spun around him alarmingly, but he was able to cross to the door to follow Dean out, even if he was unsteady on his feet.

Dean was kicking his feet up on the coffee table, remote and beer in hand, when Sam walked out. He put the remote slowly back down with a sigh. “Thought I told you to hit the hay?”

“I’m not sick.”

Dean snorted. “Okay, if you say so, denial-boy.”

“I’m not,” Sam insisted, moving further into the room. He had to sit down, but at least he could think past the pain now.

“So… it’s your usual routine to lie on the floor in the middle of your living room in a pool of your own vomit? Which, can I just say: gross!” Dean nodded towards the floor at an old towel covering the spot Sam had been laying in.

With the words, memories of the raw panic he’d felt after the vision, memories of Dean suffocating and dying in his arms, slammed into him once more, and he couldn’t keep the gasp of pain inside as his hand flew to his head.

“Sam?” Dean’s alarmed voice cut through the fear, grounding him, and he couldn’t help leaning just a little into Dean’s hold when he felt the hands on his shoulders. For a moment, it was tempting to go back to burying his head in the sand, to go back to pretending it was all just another bad dream. But he didn’t really believe that anymore, and he couldn’t afford the risk. Not with Dean. Despite living with the possibility for most of his life, he wasn’t ready to lose Dean, not now, not while he was still reeling from Jess’ death. Not… not while… not ever.

Shit… shit… he wasn’t sure what to do to stop it, wasn’t sure that sending Dean away with no explanation would be enough. Dean had died alone, and even though he’d been nearby, there was no guarantee that not being there at all would make it any better.

The residual panic and grief from the dream was mixing with his current anxiety over what to do, making it hard to think, and Dean silently pulled him in close. Sam broke, couldn’t hold back anymore and let himself sink into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Dean like it was the only anchor he had left in the world, which…

Dean rocked him for a while, not saying anything, pretending that this level of closeness was normal for them. It gave Sam the space to pull his thoughts together, and he was grateful for it. This was a hunt, and even though he was one of the supernatural threats they might need to take care of this time, he couldn’t afford not to have his head in the game. He breathed out, long and harsh, steeling himself for rejection, although he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“I saw you die,” he said quietly.

Dean’s hand tightened against his shoulder, and there was a small pause before Dean snorted. “Well, since I’m right here and feelin’ fine, I’d say your worries about my death are a little premature.” His words were teasing, dismissive, and he clearly didn’t get what Sam had been trying to say. Okay, to be fair, Sam was admittedly being a little cryptic.

He pulled away from Dean, suddenly needing a little distance, and stood up. Still a bit unsteady on his feet, he forced himself to walk over to the window and look out. “Okay, you can stay.”

Dean huffed out a breath condescendingly. “Aw, gee thanks, Sammy. I know it’s a sacrifice having your big brother around reminding you that you have a family.”

The sarcastic tone didn’t do anything to mask the hurt, and Sam felt the echo of pain in his own chest. “That’s not…I need…” Fuck, he didn’t know how to explain this. Hadn’t really thought he would ever have to. “This hunt is going to be more dangerous than usual – I need to be there to make sure you’re okay.”

“Wow. That’s quite an offer, but I’ve been on my own for a while now. Don’t really need a babysitter. Thanks though.”

Sam turned around and opened his mouth to retort, but Dean continued on without waiting for him. “Look, I’m not… I’m not trying to drag you back into the hunt, you know? I just… this whole not talking thing, it’s not really working for me, and, I gotta be honest here, I don’t think it’s working all that great for you either.” Dean gestured around at the dirty apartment to prove his point. Suddenly flushing badly, he continued, “I need… Just… go to class, or, bed or… whatever you want to do. I’ll take care of things, and while I’m here, maybe we can, you know, pretend to be brothers. Or something.”

The lost look on Dean’s face as he glared at the dirty towel still covering the mess twisted in Sam’s gut. He wished things were as simple as Dean thought they were. “Look, since Jess died I  haven’t…” His throat closed up around the still raw pain and he quickly changed what he’d been about to say. “I just need to be useful to someone, you know?”

Dean looked at him hard for a moment, and then a grin broke out on his features. “Okay. Good. So, what’ve you got?”

Taken aback a little, Sam asked, “Excuse me?”

“On the hunt, genius.” Dean was back to giving him an odd look. “You seemed to know about it already. What’ve you got on it?” Dean was quickly slipping into eager puppy mode, practically salivating at the prospect of a new hunt. It was almost infectious, except… he wasn’t sure he could keep his dreams a secret, and that thought was sobering.

“You first.”

From one blink to the next, Dean’s gaze turned suspicious and accusing. “No,” he said slowly, “No, I think I’d like to hear from you first.”

“I don’t have much.” Sam knew he was backpeddling, knew he was being stupid and cowardly, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The events of the last few years had left everything between them shaky and unclear. Sam truly wasn’t sure that once Dean knew, he’d be able to look past the freak and see his brother.

“Okay,” Dean drawled, “what _do_ you have?”

Sam took a breath, looked away for a moment and leaned against the sill. He steeled himself and caught Dean’s gaze. “I dreamed about you dying.” He could still taste the blood and fear on his tongue.

“Well,” Dean said calmly, “that’s not too surprising. I mean, after what happened.”

“No, I mean… it’s not the first nightmare that I’ve had, and some of them…” Sam swallowed hard and forced the damning words out, “some of them come true.”

“Come again?” Dean replied, his face still, keeping his reaction inside.

“Look, Dean… I dreamt about Jessica’s death…” Sam paused, but he couldn’t stop; Jess deserved to have Sam admit the truth about what he’d failed to do. He forced the rest of the shameful confession out. “For _days_ before it happened.”

“Sam, people have weird dreams, man.” Dean huffed out a laugh, dismissing everything Sam had just said. Dean moved forward, leaning against the wall next to the window, close, but not actually in Sam’s space. “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

It was tempting, so tempting, to slip back into the same excuses he’d been using for the last several months. But now that the words were out, he couldn’t take them back. “No. I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it, ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And then I had another one about this guy I didn’t even know who was killed not too far from here, and the next week there was an article about it in the paper – some guy asphyxiated out on the jogging trails with no known cause, just like it happened in the dream. And there’ve been more, over the last few months. Lots more. There’s no way it’s all just a coincidence, Dean.” 

Dean shook his head, clearly a bit nonplussed. “I don’t know... I mean… What’s all this got to do with the hunt, anyway?”

“Before you got here, my last dream… was about you.”

That startled a laugh out of Dean. “What?”

“I felt you… I saw you die.” The enormity of the words, even the remote possibility of them, made it hard to choke them out, the panic they induced suffocating. “Dean, so far, all of my dreams have come true. What if I can’t stop them from happening?”

“What’s with the ‘I’ shit?” Dean snapped back, his tone injured. “Thought you said I could stay?”

“I did.”

“Well then, get your pronouns straight, Stanford.” Dean moved over to the couch and sprawled out, making himself at home. “Why don’t you tell me what you remember about the dream?”

~o0O0o~

Dean carelessly swung the car door open, and Sam’s hand lashed out, pulling his brother back. “Whoa! What the hell do you think you’re doing, Dean?”

“It’s a party; thought I’d go crash it,” Dean replied. “We could use the intel. If you’re too uptight to crash a party, you could stay here. I’ll tell everyone you refused to enter the house of sin, and your reputation as head nerd on campus will remain safe.”

“I’m not…” Sam sputtered, irritated. “I’m not being uptight, Dean. But we don’t have much info about Delta Iota Kappa besides the _name_ and the fact that its members have been mysteriously going missing for the last six months. Oh, yeah, and the small fact that one of my best friends pledged here a few months ago and I haven’t heard much from him since. Don’t you think a little more research would be prudent?”

“Research is exactly what I’m talking about. You grab your computer and I’ll go check out the hot sorority chicks.” Dean swung himself out of the car, not waiting for Sam anymore.

“Sorority chicks? Dean…”

The door slamming closed cut off Sam’s words, and he shook his head as he watched his unsuspecting brother move forward confidently. Dean was already halfway to the house by the time Sam convinced himself to get out of the car and follow. He didn’t like it, but he wasn’t about to let Dean go in there alone. Shit, he didn’t know when the vision was supposed to happen, but he didn’t have any reason not to think it might happen here.

The thought sent a chill through him, and he ran forward, easily catching up with Dean before they reached the front steps of the large Victorian house. The Greek letters that Dean clearly hadn’t thought too hard about were proudly displayed on a large plaque over the door. The low pulsing bass beat of the music was loud enough that Sam looked around nervously for cop cars. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t been called by now. The house wasn’t that far from its neighbors; surely the people living nearby weren’t okay with the noise.

Several guys were hanging out on the front steps drinking beers and chatting, but they paused when Dean sauntered up, looking both of them up and down appraisingly. The one closest smiled lasciviously at Dean, sending an irrational pang of jealousy coursing through Sam. “You have an invite?” the man asked.

“Brady,” Sam replied smoothly, stepping in close to Dean before his brother had a chance to answer.

“By all means then,” the man practically purred, “go on in.”

The man didn’t move, forcing Sam and Dean to step in close to get around him, the man’s gaze locked obscenely on Dean the whole time.

“Was that odd? That was odd,” Dean muttered as they stepped inside. He abruptly stopped dead in his tracks and Sam nearly ran into him. “Shit.”

The door slammed shut behind them, sealing them inside. Everywhere they looked there were guys. Guys dancing with other guys, guys hanging on each other, guys doing things in the darker recesses of the large room that might get them arrested in the light of day.

“Uh, Sammy?” Dean leaned back and yelled in Sam’s ear, “Where are all the chicks?”

Sam rolled his eyes and moved into the room, looking around for a familiar face, hoping to find Brady. He hadn’t dreamed about his friend, and he really hoped that meant Brady was fine. Sure, things had been a little awkward between them when Brady had left, but he’d let Sam stay at his place for free, and Sam was really pretty grateful for it.

Dean was a long line of heat along Sam’s side, the unfamiliar surroundings clearly making him a little uncomfortable, and Sam couldn’t quite deny his surge of arousal. The sexual energy in the room wasn’t keeping his libido down even a little bit. They were definitely drawing attention; many of the couples had turned to look when they came in and hadn’t looked away again. Sam suddenly felt like prey.

“Hey, Beautiful.” A man Sam had never met before stepped in close and stroked a hand down his face, thumbing over his lips. Sam flinched back slightly, crashing his head into Dean’s painfully. There was something unnerving about the man, although Sam wasn’t sure what.

“I’m not int…” Sam started to stammer out. Dean’s hands circled around Sam’s torso.

“Hands off. This one’s already claimed,” Dean growled loudly.

“Dean?!” Sam yelped, his voice several octaves too high.

“Sor-ry,” the guy pouted, wandering off. A wave of relief crashed over Sam. It felt like he’d dodged a bullet.

Dean didn’t remove his hands from around Sam as they moved further into the room. “Dean?” Sam questioned again between clenched teeth, “What the hell are you doing?”

Dean’s breath was hot against Sam’s ear, his voice a rough growl that went straight to Sam’s dick. “Blending in.”

Dean pushed them slowly around the periphery of the room, scoping the place out. There were pictures on the walls of various frat members, and one of them caught Sam’s eye. It was Dean’s turn to plow into him when he stopped to look. _Shit_. It was the guy from the newspaper – the guy from his dream.

There was no time to react though, because four guys were suddenly crowding around them, shoving bottles of beer into their hands.

“Dudes!” a short blonde shouted, obviously already inebriated. “Welcome to the party! You here to pledge?”

“Yeah!” Dean agreed enthusiastically, before Sam could shut him the fuck up.

“Awesome!” The enthusiastic reply was greeted with entirely too much touching for Sam’s comfort, and there was loud encouragement to drink up, which Dean, of course, did. Sam looked on in disgust for a moment before surreptitiously putting his drink down on a table.

Dean clearly had the guys under his thrall, so Sam turned back to the pictures on the wall. Fuck, the one guy wasn’t the only one who’d appeared in his dreams over the last few months. There were two others who’d made appearances as well, although he hadn’t heard about any recovered bodies in those cases. He was pretty sure they were dead, though; his dreams didn’t leave much room for doubt.

“You know any of the brothers?” The loud, deep, voice next to him pulled him from his thoughts.

“What?” Sam shot a guilty look over at Dean before he realized what the guy meant. He’d forgotten this was a frat for a moment. “No. Well, not really. Had a class with him, but I haven’t seen him in a while.” Sam pointed to the first of the two men he’d ‘seen’.

“Oh. He dropped out and went home a couple months ago. I think someone in his family died. It was pretty sudden.”

“Oh, really? What about him?” Sam asked, pointing at the other one.

“Um…” The guy looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. Before Sam could say anything else, Dean was pulling him away, towards the group of guys that were using dancing as an excuse to dry hump each other. “Let’s dance!” Dean yelled above the noise. Sam flushed, the thought of being that close to Dean instantly perking up his dick.

Dean plastered himself to Sam, pulling him in tight, his hands wandering over Sam’s chest as he gyrated against Sam’s back. The blood flowing south left Sam dizzy.

Dean brought his mouth right next to Sam’s ear. “You see something over there?”

Sam jerked his attention around the room, trying to figure out what the hell Dean was talking about, but aside from the already established weird of the frat house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The sweat tickled down the side of his face, but did nothing to help the burn of embarrassment caused by the complete breakdown of his mental abilities. It also did absolutely nothing to cool the line of fire down his back where Dean was still rubbing against him.

“Sam?” Dean questioned.

Fuck. Another quick check, but still nothing. He gave up. “No, uh, no. What do you see?”

Dean laughed in his ear, low and throaty. “What, this place making you uncomfortable, Sammy? Sometimes a dude likes another dude. Get over it.” Dean pinched Sam’s nipple for emphasis, and Sam gave what could only be described as a high pitched squeak. At least Dean thinking Sam couldn’t handle gay people was better than him knowing the truth. Although, not fair – Dean hadn’t exactly been the king of cool when they’d walked in here.

“When you were looking at the wall,” Dean continued, before Sam could voice his indignation, “and talking to that guy? Before I pulled you over here?” Dean’s tone was screaming, _you are an idiot_ , and Sam couldn’t really help but agree.

“Sam?” The loud, familiar voice pulled his attention away before he had time to answer Dean’s question. Brady suddenly burst through the crowd, moving fast. He pulled Sam from Dean’s arms and into a tight hug. It felt a little awkward; they hadn’t really spoken since the night Jess… “Dude, I never thought you’d come. What are you doing here?”

Brady let him go suddenly and thrust a beer into Sam’s hand. God, that seemed like a really good idea. Just one beer wasn’t going to hurt anything. Fuck it, he needed a little something extra if Dean was going to be all over him like this, and it’s not like Dean had turned the beer down earlier. At least he trusted Brady not to spike it with anything. Throwing caution to the wind, he took a long swallow of it. It was icy cold and soothing on his parched throat... and gone long before he was ready to be done with it. He brought the bottle down slowly, wishing for another distraction so he didn’t have to think anymore. No such luck though. He looked at Brady’s empty hands longingly.

Brady laughed, “Do you want me to get you another?” His hand was still lingering on Sam’s arm, and Sam looked down at it, not sure what to do about the suddenly uncomfortable familiarity.

Dean shoved forward and wrapped his arms around Sam again. “Naw,” he answered for Sam, “my boyfriend’s a lightweight. So, you guys know each other?”

Brady cast a startled, hurt look at Sam and dropped his hand, which was a relief. “Yeah, we go way back.”

Dean was keeping Sam wrapped in his arms possessively, hands absently tickling across Sam’s chest, and hots for his brother or not, undercover or not, Sam was just about ready to push Dean the fuck away. “We’ve known each other since…”

Dean cut Sam off, talking right over him loudly, “So what do we have to do to become pledges?”

Brady’s surprised gaze snapped back to Sam, “So, you’ve decided you wanna join us?”

Sam nodded reluctantly and his friend suddenly looked almost gleeful. “Awesome! You’re actually in luck – we just had a room open up right here in the chapter house. Ordinarily, there’d be a pledge period first, but if I vouch for you, they’ll let you move in early.” Brady slipped behind Sam and draped an arm over his shoulders, leading him forward and all but ignoring Dean.

A fierce grip on the scruff of Sam’s neck brought them both up short, and Sam could have almost sworn he heard Dean growl, which, what the fuck? “Dude, we wanna join, but back the fuck off,” Dean said low, the threat clear. “He’s mine.”

Dean pulled Sam back sharply, pulling him close once more and, God damn it, Dean was taking this whole undercover thing a little too far.

“Yeah, sure, buddy,” Brady scowled. “Follow me, then.” He turned abruptly and started weaving through the crowd fast enough that they had to scramble to keep up.

“So I’m _yours_ , now?” Sam huffed out, irritated.

“Shut up,” was all Dean had time to growl before Brady was ushering them through a small door largely concealed behind the stairs. There was a second set of stairs leading down, and despite Sam’s misgivings, Dean didn’t give him a chance to reconsider, crowding him until he was forced to either move down, or make it an issue and risk their cover.

Dean’s hand was still resting on Sam’s neck as they descended, and his brother’s thumb absently stroked the skin just under his collar, causing a shiver of pleasure to ripple across his back. Sam’s dick was getting so hard it was painful.

“Dude,” he whispered, shoving Dean’s hand away. He glanced back, and Dean had a puzzled look on his face. He was looking at his hand oddly.

“Sam?” Brady questioned before Sam could say anything.

“Yeah, coming.” Sam turned and finished heading down. Dean followed closely, but his hand didn’t return. Sam wasn’t about to admit he was disappointed.

At the bottom of the stairs was a sharp right framed by an archway, but the interior of the dimly lit room beyond wasn’t really visible. Sam had a sick feeling in his gut that this was all going way too fast, but he wasn’t sure they could bow out gracefully at this point.

And Dean would never let him live it down if he just turned and ran.

Brady stopped abruptly at the edge of the arch putting his hands up for them to stop. He spoke to them in a hushed whisper. “Okay, you guys know about hazing, right?”

Sam nodded. Dean must’ve nodded too because Brady smiled and said, “Good. So, this is the start of your hazing. A lot of guys chicken out within the first couple of hours. I know you’ll be fine, but,” he shifted his gaze pointedly to Dean, “if you turn and run, or decide you can’t handle what they are asking you to do, that’s it. You’re out. No second chances. Got it?”

Dean smirked, “Oh, bring it on, Spartacus.”

Brady shook his head and smirked, but didn’t otherwise respond to Dean’s taunt. Dismissing Dean completely, he turned his attention back to Sam, whispering conspiratorially, “Just remember, it’s all fake.” He entered the room, leaving them to follow.

“Dickless wannabees,” Dean muttered derisively as they moved forward. He was staying close, too close, his breath hot on Sam’s neck, making Sam itch to reach back and complete the connection. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t sure Dean was just playing around anymore and that was…

All thoughts of turning to confront Dean over his odd behavior fled as they were confronted with the spectacle laid out for them in the large chamber. The stone-hewn room was lit solely by black candles dotted about a foot apart along a narrow ledge cut into the rock, stopping just at either edge of the archway. All along the walls, sigils and runes were drawn in florescent colors, many altered from the originals to look more menacing. It appeared to Sam’s trained eye like they’d just done a Google search to find cool looking figures, and then had a painting party with absolutely no regard for the origins or true meanings of what they were painting.

Further inside, about a dozen people were standing in a half circle around a large pentacle that was carved into the floor. The grooves were painted a deep burgundy, causing them to look luridly like blood. The star had another of the large black candles burning at each of its points. The men – well, with the black robes and deep cowls that completely hid their faces, it was kind of hard to tell, but Sam’s money was on them being guys – were chanting in a low drone. The words were largely unintelligible, a blend of nonsense Latin and Greek phonemes, as far as Sam could tell.

The overall effect was absolutely ridiculous. Brady was throwing on a black robe of his own and moving in to take position on the closer end of the arc, making the number of people waiting for them a perfect thirteen. Of course.

“Approach, initiates,” the one in the middle said in a low, serious voice that had Sam turning red in an effort not to laugh. “The high one did tell us to expect new blood tonight.”

Behind him, Dean coughed in a very obvious attempt to hide his own amusement, and then pushed past Sam, confidently striding to stand right in the center of the pentagram. Sam followed reluctantly. Despite every evidence that these guys were just a bunch of clueless frat jocks that had no idea that the things they were playing with were steeped in truth, his instincts were screaming that this was a trap. He just couldn’t quite make his brain work fast enough to say why.

As soon as Sam reached Dean’s side, the guy in the middle continued speaking in his ridiculous low voice, “Good. Please kneel before the council.”

Sam looked over at Dean, who met his gaze with a smirk and a wink and then did what they asked. Sam followed his lead. The floor was freezing. He could feel it like ice through the fabric of his jeans. Dean was close, so close, and Sam couldn’t stop his hand from drifting over to skim across Dean’s thigh. Sam wasn’t quite sure it was only his imagination that Dean swayed slightly into the light touch.

The men moved apart, spacing themselves evenly and closing the circle.

“For your first sacrifice, you will give up your sight.”

Two of the men approached with blindfolds held out in front of them reverently, and Dean cracked, “What, we gonna play pin the tail on the jack-ass? Fine, I pick you,” he finished, nodding at the speaker.

No one reacted. Sam only had time to shoot one last questioning glance towards his brother before the cloth slipped in front of his face, tightening more painfully than was probably necessary. The cloth was thick and smelled faintly of camphor. Sam couldn’t see a thing, and forcing his eyes open only made them sting, so he kept them closed.

“Now, you must remove your habiliments,” the speaker droned.

Sam rolled his eyes at the awkward language as Dean mumbled, “Excuse me?”

Maybe this would convince Dean that it was time to high-tail it out of there, Sam thought hopefully.

“Just your shirts will suffice.” It was a different voice that offered the clarification, but Sam didn’t recognize that one either.

There was a moment of stillness, and then Brady snorted mockingly from behind Sam. The quiet rustle of fabric followed almost immediately as Dean scrambled to do as requested, obviously determined not to be outdone. Sam wasn’t sure where the competitiveness between the two men was coming from, but it was palpable.

Sam removed his own shirt more slowly, a little surprised at how good the cold air felt caressing his skin. He was warm, he realized, flushed and… aching. Suddenly he was pretty fucking relieved they only wanted his shirts, since his pants probably weren’t hiding much. At least Dean couldn’t see anything.

“You join the collective today as you came into the world, bare for others to see, innocent, and with no need for shame. First, you will make the pact with each other, and then, if your acts are deemed worthy, you make the pact with the whole, becoming part of many, which is one. Are your hearts filled with enough courage to face the great one? Or will you run back to your shame-filled lives to suffer alone?”

Sam readied himself for a smart-ass comment from Dean, but only heard slightly accelerated breathing from his brother. “Dean…” he started, but apparently the man’s questions had been rhetorical because he wasn’t waiting for a response.

“Two become one; one becomes many, which become one. Remain kneeling, and turn to face one another.” Cool hands gripped Sam’s shoulders, and, given the sudden gasp from Dean, he was getting similar treatment. They only guided him into place, pushing him slightly to the side as he turned, so that he was close enough to feel Dean’s heat. It bathed him, heightening his sense of need, making him agonizingly aware that he could touch if he only moved a few small inches to close the gap.

Silky soft cloth draped over his shoulder and Sam’s right hand was taken in a strong grip and wrapped in the cloth as well. Dean’s hand, warm and shaky, was placed in his own, and he could feel the cloth extending around their now joined hands, lightly binding them together. The touch of only their hands together was maddening; his need to feel Dean’s skin, Dean’s body, pressed firmly against his own was rapidly becoming overwhelming.

Sweat trickled down the side of his face despite the cold, and it was getting hard to think. Actually, it’d been getting steadily harder since before they’d come downstairs, which… _fuck, fuck_ , they needed to get the hell out of here.

Dean was holding Sam’s hand tightly. Small tremors were belying Dean’s usual solid strength, and a small moan breathed past his brother’s lips. Something nudged Sam’s left hand and he gripped it instinctively. It felt like a wooden rod of some sort, the pits and imperfections worn smooth with age. Dean’s hand gripped just above his own a moment later. Immediately, power flushed through him, cold and seeking, demanding, and Dean swore under his breath.

“You must couple with each other now, two becoming one before the whole. Make your pledge to Asmodeus, or feel his judgment.”

“Fuck. Fuck this,” Dean stammered out, starting to pull away.

Power coalesced, seeking, looking to devour, and the image of Dean being taken by pure evil ripped across Sam’s mind. If Dean pulled away now, they would lose. Dean would die. The certainty of that burned through Sam’s soul.

Sam’s grip convulsed in Dean’s, and he pulled his brother close. Their chests, their lips, brushed together, shooting fiery, hungry need through Sam’s groin. A helpless, heavy groan fell from Dean’s lips as well, and then they were crushed against Sam’s, his tongue demanding entry. Sam’s mouth fell open in invitation, and their tongues collided. Warm and soft and wet, the tangy taste of Dean exploded inside of Sam’s mouth, and God, he’d wanted this for so long – the realization that he might actually get it ripped away the rest of his reason.

He let go of the stick, though he could still feel the raw power pulsing close, watching, waiting, but it was irrelevant in the face of Dean’s hunger. Sam brought his hand to Dean’s chest and let it trail over smooth skin as their kiss deepened. He couldn’t get enough; Dean couldn’t get enough. Sam plunged his free hand down Dean’s stomach, barely pausing at his waistband, forcing his hand down until he could feel Dean’s silky heat throbbing against his palm.

“Oh, God,” Dean groaned, pulling back a little so he could trail his tongue over Sam’s chin and down into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Need you,” he muttered against his brother’s skin, nuzzling there, the rasp of unshaved skin leaving behind a line of fire. “Missed you. God, so much.”

The ache in Dean’s voice threatened to suffocate Sam for a moment, and all he could think to mutter was, “Sorry… sorry.”

Dean was rock hard, and there was precious little room in his pants for Sam’s hand, making the grip awkward. Reluctantly, he pulled his other hand free of Dean’s and the… whatever that was wrapped around them. With both hands finally free, he fumbled around until he managed to get Dean’s pants open and pushed them down and out of the way, never breaking the connection of their hungry kiss. He could hear the light sound of threads popping in his eagerness, but he really didn’t care.

Dean moaned with relief as he was freed, thrusting eagerly into Sam’s palm. Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, holding him tightly. Sam could feel his brothers short, somewhat ragged nails scrapping up his back as Dean frantically thrust against Sam’s hand. The burn felt like ownership.

“More,” he muttered against Dean’s skin. “Need more.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean responded breathily. He grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled it around behind, pushing his brother’s fingers into his crack and deeper, until they were against Dean’s entrance, begging to be let in.

Dean’s ass was way too dry for that, and they both groaned in frustration. “You gotta… you gotta…” Sam couldn’t figure out how to complete his thought. Dean’s hands were moving over Sam’s jeans now, popping the buttons apart and tearing the fabric roughly down. Sam was saved from having to complete his sentence when a tube of something was shoved in his hand.

The power was growing, the need consuming him, threatening to burn him from the inside out, and he didn’t question, just squirted a large amount of the liquid into his hand before pushing back in, letting his index finger plunge inside up to the hilt. Dean was relaxed, ready, eager and willing for the intrusion, and, tight as it was, Sam didn’t have to work that hard to get a second finger in.

Dean fell backward, bringing Sam with him. Sam’s hand was crushed beneath their bodies until Dean lifted his hips, kicking the rest of his jeans off with a practiced kick. Sam almost wept with relief when Dean wrapped his legs around Sam and pulled him in close. He almost didn’t have time to slick himself up before Dean was guiding him inside.

Sam pushed slowly, the tight heat closing around him, making him feel complete for the first time in his life. “God, Dean, wanted this for so long,” he moaned against Dean’s sweaty skin.

Dean only rocked back and forward, setting a rapid pace Sam knew was going to have him coming way too soon, but he couldn’t slow, couldn’t do anything but obey the demanding power that made him want more, faster, harder. Made him want to leave his mark on his brother and never let Dean go.

The rush of pleasure gathered in his groin and then pulsed through his entire body as he rocked his release into Dean, pulse after pulse that crescendoed into ecstasy but didn’t seem to slake his need at all. They slowed together, Dean’s dick a solid weight between them, neither sure for the moment of what needed to happen next, how to bring whatever this was between them to completion. Sam needed… he needed… he needed Dean inside of him, the power wanted, _demanded_ , equals, and Sam was only too happy to oblige. 

Sam slid from Dean’s body slowly, Dean clenching around him, the sticky come and drying lube helping his brother to hold on, to keep him inside, but Sam couldn’t restrain his eagerness to have Dean inside of him now. He grabbed Dean’s hand and brought it around as soon as he was free. Dean gasped loudly, suddenly resisting, and that was enough to make Sam pause in confusion. The blindfold was suddenly ripped off his face, and Dean tossed it away.

Confused, lust-filled green eyes filled his vision, became his world so completely that for a moment, he had no sense of his own self. “Sammy?” The soft question pulled him back to himself, and he found fear in the intense gaze that matched his own. This wasn’t fear for himself, Sam knew that on an instinctive level. No, the fear was for Sam, the apprehension that Dean was taking this too far, that he could be hurting Sam, almost enough to pull Dean free from the lust haze enveloping them both. “Need you,” Sam pleaded. “Need you so much. Please…”

He grabbed the tube that had fallen to the floor and squeezed it over Dean’s dick and his own ass with a far from steady grip. He shifted quickly, lining himself up and pushing down forcefully. He was unprepped, and his ass ached with the steady intrusion as he forced his brother’s cock inside of himself, but the pain was a heady thing, filling him with need and lust greater than anything he’d ever known.

“God, Sam…” Dean moaned as Sam bottomed out, his ass pressed so firmly down he could feel Dean’s balls against him. He pulsed up, then back down and they groaned together, their mutual need far too much for either of them to endure silently. Dean’s hands found Sam’s dick then, caressing over his shaft and balls lovingly. Sam almost wept at how good it felt; it was better than every fantasy he’d ever had. It didn’t stop Sam from moving though. He set an eager pace, feeling the power between them build, this time knowing the end was near and unable to bear waiting for it a moment longer than he had to.

“Sam,” Dean growled out. “Sam! I’m going to…” Sam crashed their mouths back together, thrusting his tongue inside as Dean’s dick gave its first pulse inside of him, and the sweet taste of his brother on his tongue brought Sam over the edge at the same moment.

Sam’s vision went white as they convulsed together, the sense of utter fulfillment with each contraction washing over him, until he collapsed on top of Dean, feeling completely drained. He couldn’t stay awake any longer, and he let himself float away listening to the strong beat of his brother’s heart.

~o0O0o~

Sam was jarred back to reality by Dean struggling frantically to get out from underneath him.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Dean was mumbling under his breath as he scrambled to pull his clothes back on, which, what? Everything felt muffled, like he was wrapped in layers of gauze... or his brain was...

He wasn’t dressed either. Dean was still swearing. He looked around blearily for his clothes, found his jeans and boxers nearby, but there were no shirts to speak of.

“Sam?”

He reached out for his pants. It took two tries to get a grip on them. Doggedly, he shoved his feet into his boxers and struggled to pull them on. Apparently, they needed to get moving quickly, at least if Dean’s mood was anything to go by.

“Sammy?”

He had to get to his knees to get the boxers all the way up, and he almost fell over before he had the damn things pulled into place. By then he was so exhausted that he lay back down on the cold cement once more, curling into himself for warmth.

“Sam!” Dean’s grip was heavy on Sam’s shoulders. For a moment, Sam had forgotten Dean was there with him, didn’t remember his brother moving into his space. Dean grabbed Sam’s face, forcing Sam to meet his gaze.

“Dean?” he finally asked, not sure what the expression on Dean’s face meant.

“God, Sam. I’m so fucking sor…”

A chuckle behind Dean made him turn. A guy was standing in the archway holding a long staff. The guy from last night. Last night. Last night he and Dean had… Oh fuck. He jerked himself out of Dean’s grip, struggling back to his knees only to fall over backwards in his haste to get away. He still wasn’t sure he could stand up, but he had to, had to try because Dean… his thoughts tumbled around each other as he struggled to make sense of his memories.

“Looked like you two had a good time last night. I’m sure Asmodeus will be quite pleased with…”

The sound of flesh slamming into flesh echoed across the stone room loudly. Dean had launched himself across the room and was pummeling the guy into the ground. The guy was screaming pathetically, his attempts to fight back completely ineffective.

Sam was staring, vaguely worried that Dean was going to kill the guy, but strangely unmotivated to intervene, when Dean’s attention was suddenly arrested by the staff that had fallen to the floor during the attack. It was pulsing and writhing with power so strong and so… _wrong_ , that it hurt to look at it. Dean threw himself at the stick, grabbing hold of it and unhesitatingly swung it against the stone archway.

“No!” the other man screamed as the staff broke in half with a sickening crunch, quickly followed by a loud boom that rocked the foundations of the building around them. The man’s horrified screams turned to wretched sobs that were almost drowned out by the unearthly wail that was now issuing from the broken stick. “You wrecked everything!” the man screamed at Dean, his eyes streaming and bleak.

The words had barely left his mouth when power, black and viscous, crackled through the air in an arc straight toward the crying man. It wrapped around him and then sank, dragging the man down with it. His cries of misery turned to shrieks of agony as he was pulled into the floor and an instant later, there was silence, no evidence left that anything supernatural had just occurred, or that a man had even been there.

“Nifty,” Dean muttered, picking up the broken stick. It looked like nothing more than an ordinary piece of dull, broken wood now. “Guess that wraps this one up.”

A moment later power slammed into Sam, throwing him to the floor like a physical blow. It thrummed through him, leaving his heart racing, his breathing erratic, and his thoughts clear for the first time since he’d woken up.

“Sam?” Dean was pulling him up, his voice laced with worry.

His brother, Dean. His brother who was still shirtless, who still smelled like…

Sam shoved his brother back. He didn’t want… he couldn’t let… Fuck. With shaking hands, he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on, then looked around frantically for shoes and shirts, but found none. It didn’t matter. He was just grateful they’d left his pants. He needed to get out of there.

Pushing past his brother, he ran up the steps, through the now completely deserted living room and out the front door. Dean was chasing him, calling for him to stop, but Sam had the longer stride and he knew the campus inside out. Dean wouldn’t be able to stop him. It was the only thing he could be glad about.

~o0O0o~

The smell of old books in the back corner of the basement always relaxed him, he’d been addicted to the musty quiet since he was a teenager and it was the only place he could go to get away from the critical and ever watchful eye of his dad, and at the same time feel like he wasn’t completely useless. He’d left behind the old omnipresent fear of never knowing when the only two people who mattered might end up dead, might leave you completely alone, when he’d come to the school. That fear had been one of the driving forces in his quest for freedom. Only, he was beginning to realize that he’d never really gotten rid of it, only buried it so deep that he wasn’t consciously aware of it.

It was back in full force now. Jess was gone. Dean was gone, or would be soon, and his dad was missing, probably dead. And Dean was self-destructive enough when he was feeling guilty that he’d probably do something reckless and get himself killed as well, soon enough. Sam leaned against the bookcase and let his head be cradled by the old texts nobody really referenced anymore as he tried to stuff the fear of abandonment back into its box. It had already happened.

At least he wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t actually need anybody to take care of him.

“Hey.”

The soft voice jerked Sam from his thoughts and he looked up to find Dean leaning against the edge of the facing bookshelves.

He hadn’t expected Dean to be able to track him down. Truth be told, he hadn’t really expected Dean to try, although that was a little obtuse on his part; he knew how stubborn his brother could be. “What… how’d you find me?” he stammered out.

“You aren’t that hard to predict,” Dean replied archly.

Looking at Dean was painful, filled him with a sense of loss so overwhelming that he thought it might break him. He had to look away, had to grab a book and focus on the worn edges of the binding to stay sane. “What are you still doing here? The case is over. I would’ve thought you’d have taken off by now.”

“I’m not the one who runs away, Sammy,” Dean replied, the angry edge to his tone unmistakable.

“I didn’t run away.”

“No?”

“No, Dean. I got a scholarship. To _Stanford_. For most people that doesn’t usually equate to getting disowned.”

“Whatever,” Dean said tiredly. “Why’d you run this time, then?”

“I was doing you a favor. Didn’t think you’d actually want me hanging around after… after what we did. I think… it’d probably be best if we left some space between us. Maybe… maybe permanently.” Saying the words was like gouging his heart out of his chest with a spoon, but there wasn’t any point in dragging out the inevitable.

Dean sat down on the floor across the cramped aisle close enough that their legs were brushing lightly together. Sam had to struggle not to react, not to move closer or pull away. To pretend that he didn’t long for contact with Dean more than breathing.

“Why don’t you explain your logic to the rest of the class, Sam, ‘cause your words aren’t making any god-damned sense.”

“What, you…” Sam was struggling with his words, couldn’t quite conceive that Dean was still here after… “After what we did together, you seriously aren’t ready to move on?” he asked incredulously.

“Why does what happened make any difference to anything?” Dean deadpanned. “You’re still my brother, Sam. Dad’s still missing, possibly in trouble. We’re family. What happened doesn’t change any of that.”

“Dean, we… we slept together!” Sam hissed.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “yeah, we did.”

At least Dean had the grace to look embarrassed now.

“I’m sorry about that,” Dean continued, “I… it was my fault. I was being… pretty reckless. I don’t know why.” Dean looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then clearly tried to mask it, rushing to add jokingly, “It’s probably the first time in my life I’ve ever made a mistake, you know? But…” His voice sobered quickly. “Yeah. That one’s on me. Still, it doesn’t really change anything, does it?”

Sam just stared at his brother, unable to come up with any kind of reply that made sense.

Dean sighed. “You know, you may be brighter than most, but you still have your head up your ass like every other teenager I’ve ever met.”

Affronted, Sam replied irritably, “I’m not a teenager anymore, Dean.”

“Oh, right. Well, close enough,” Dean dismissed lightly. “You can’t blame me for forgetting; you sure as hell still act like one.”

“Dean,” Sam said tiredly, “just go. Go find Dad. Hunt, since that seems to be what you love to do, but I can’t…” Sam felt like his chest was constricting, stealing his air and bringing with it borderline panic, but he managed to get the rest of the words out anyway. “I can’t go with you. My life is here.”

“What life?” The soft words weren’t spoken harshly, but they still hurt, and Sam couldn’t quite keep the wince of pain off his features. “I’m sorry, but your girlfriend’s gone, and I happen to know that you haven’t gone to a single class since before I left.”

The mention of Jess still scalded, and Sam chose to focus on something easier. “How do you know I haven’t gon…”

Dean interrupted him. “Because I never really left, asshole. I’ve been hanging around trying to find a good excuse to come back ever since you told me to get lost. As soon as I found that string of disappearances, I showed up at your place.” Slightly self-conscious, Dean added, “Honestly, I didn’t really expect this hunt to turn out to be anything.”

“Dean, you may be able to pretend that what happened didn’t… didn’t… that nothing happened, but I can’t.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Dean replied quietly.

“Yeah, well, you can’t stop me from leaving you,” Sam bit back angrily.

He got up, intending to walk out of the building, but Dean was right behind him, slamming him against the bookshelf forcefully enough to drive the breath from Sam’s lungs. Dean just stayed there, looking furious, pressed up against Sam with his face close enough that they were sharing breath.

“Dean, I…” He couldn’t say the words out loud, didn’t know how else to communicate what a sick fuck he was, so he closed the small bit of distance between them instead, giving in to the one impulse he’d vowed never to obey. He pressed his lips softly against Dean’s, savoring the contact, knowing it was the last he’d ever get.

Dean… didn’t back away in disgust. Didn’t exactly return the kiss either, but still, not the reaction Sam had anticipated in the slightest. Maybe, Dean thought this was innocent. Sam darted his tongue out and licked lovingly against Dean’s lips, pressing gently, hoping to be let inside, knowing that would never happen.

Dean pulled back then, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tipped his head forward to rest his forehead against Sam’s, eyes closed. “Stop.”

“I don’t want to, Dean,” Sam said miserably. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years. It’s why I took off for Stanford, or at least, it’s why I cut ties when I left. It hurt like hell, but a part of me was relieved when Dad said not to come back.”

Dean sighed heavily, but he still didn’t pull away.

“Are you listening to me, Dean? Last night was every fantasy I’ve ever had come true! Why the hell aren’t you gone already?” He shoved at his clueless brother. Dean raised his head and opened his eyes, but he didn’t let go, didn’t move any farther away. He wasn’t leaving, and he didn’t exactly look surprised, either.

“I’m listening to you,” Dean murmured. “Are you listening to me? I told you, I’m not leaving you.”

“Why aren’t you shocked?” Sam muttered, unable to maintain eye contact and focusing instead on a small tear in Dean’s jacket. It bothered him that he didn’t know what had caused it.

Dean shrugged slightly. “I’ve known for a while, or, well, okay, I didn’t _know_ , I guess, but I suspected.”

“But you never…”

“Oh yeah,” Dean interrupted with a self-deprecating laugh, “’cause that’s a conversation I was just dying to have with you. ‘Hey, Sammy, I’ve noticed you lookin’ at me kinda funny lately. You fantasizing about hitting this or what?’”

“I’m glad one of us can joke about this,” Sam responded bitterly.

“I’m not…” Dean huffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I felt the same way, and I didn’t know what to do about it, you know? Didn’t know if there was anything I could do. And anyway, what if I’d been wrong?”

“You… didn’t think?” Sam pressed, latching on to Dean’s opening words like a drowning man clutches a lifeline. It had to have been a slip of the tongue.

“I’m…” Dean finally let Sam go, backing up until his back hit the bookshelf. “Last night was… confusing. I don’t know how much of what I felt or, or, what I’m feeling, is just… the magic, you know? And even if I did have some of those kinds of feelings… you’re my kid brother, Sam. I don’t know that I could get past that. All I do know is, it’s better with you around. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

God, that sounded so good, so tempting. It couldn’t be as easy as Dean was making it sound. “And you’re not afraid I’m going to…” Sam trailed off, suddenly feeling stupid.

Dean helpfully completed his sentence for him with a teasing smirk. “Try to jump my bones the first chance you get?” The joking tone slipped away, and Dean placed a strong, confident hand on Sam’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I trust you, Sammy. I’m not letting you walk out of my life again. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

Sam shrugged, suddenly feeling the weight he’d forgotten he carried being lifted from him. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment before letting it out. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“Okay?” Dean shot back eagerly.

“Yeah.” Sam looked up, finally able to meet his brother’s gaze. For the first time in a long time, getting through tomorrow didn’t seem so insurmountable. Not while he had his brother by his side. He allowed a small, hopeful smile to curve up the ends of his lips. “Yeah, together. Together sounds good.”

 

 _  
**~Le Fin**   
_

  



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